


Piety

by fineinthemorning



Series: It Would Be a Tragedy [1]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Amnesia, Amputation, Angst, Best Friends, Body Horror, Character Death, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mental Instability, Recovered Memories, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Tragedy, Unethical Experimentation, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-28 02:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineinthemorning/pseuds/fineinthemorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Kaneki Ken is captured, Arima Kishou puts a plan into motion to use the ghoul to create an auto-equipping quinque, but somewhere along the way, things become too personal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shape

“Dispose of him.”

“I don’t think we should.” There was no response. Arima added, “I have an idea.”

<><><><> 

“Mukade,” his voice was gentle. The Shinigami reached out to him to touch his white hair, but the ghoul shrank back in fear. He knew nothing; his existence and knowledge blank. Everything was frightening. The ghoul sniffed at the long fingers of the investigator’s hand. He smelled like him. They smelled so  _alike_. He wasn’t sure exactly what the smell was, but he knew that they were the same; they carried the same  _scent_. Anything like himself wasn’t scary.

Before he could react, the man’s fingers were in his hair, gentle, pressing affection into his scalp and weaving it into the white strands. He felt himself relax. It was the first time someone had touched him without the intent to _work_  on him in some way.

“I’m Arima Kishou. Your name is Mukade. Tell me, Mukade, do you remember anything before now?”

The ghoul blinked. The man was forming sounds with his mouth. What did they mean? He had pressed his hand to his chest when he spoke and then he had pressed his hand to the ghoul’s heart as well. The ghoul turned his head to the side, not understanding. He hated the lights in the room, and when he looked up into the man’s eyes, the lights were forming a halo around his head- too bright. The ghoul shut his eyes tightly, briefly, before opening them again.

Arima could be patient when necessary; currently, for this to work, it was necessary, so he repeated the same words with the same gestures.

And it clicked.

The ghoul moved his mouth slowly and pointed, “Arima.” Then, he pointed to himself, “Mukade?”

Arima’s lips spread and he smiled, and it was the first beautiful thing Mukade had seen. He didn’t know the  _word_  for  _beauty_  or  _warmth_ , but he could still feel it there in the man’s presence, and he could see it somewhere in the man’s face.

“Arima,” he repeated with a smile, and the investigator nodded, his hand returning to the ghoul’s white hair to pet it gently.

<><><><> 

“Mukade, how are you today?”

The ghoul ran to the edge of his room as soon as he’d heard the investigator’s voice but was yanked back suddenly by the chain on his ankle which caused him to fall flat on his face. He’d forgotten he was chained; he couldn’t reach the glass window. He didn’t cry. He didn’t want to worry Arima; sadness wasn’t something he wanted anyone to feel, because he felt it often, and it was  _never_  a good feeling.

Arima walked quickly into the room and knelt beside him, hand in his hair again and petting it gently, “Mukade, you know better than that.”

“Sorry, Arima,” and he sat up on the floor and smiled for him.

Arima returned the smile, “You’ve been here for two months now. How are you feeling?” Two months to the day. That made it three months since V14.

“I’m happy you’re here,” he replied steadily, hoping that Arima would return his hand to his head. It was so gentle, so kind. It was the only kindness he received here in this place- no,  _the only kindness he knew_.

“You’ve been reading?” Arima looked at the books he had left- mostly pre-school and primary school books. It was helping his subject, Ken Kaneki, form something of a personality and also . . . a vocabulary. He could now communicate with the investigator which Kishou found infinitely more useful then when he’d first been sent to Cochlea.

“Yes. I like this one.” Mukade stood up, took a book from the very neat stack he had made against the wall, and brought it over to Arima, “I like the firefly.”

Arima looked at the book titled,  _The Very Lonely Firefly_ , and his brow furrowed, “Are you lonely, Mukade?”

The ghoul sat beside him, knees bent and close to his chest, “Not when you’re here, Arima.”

“Oh?” Kishou was pleased that he had at least earned Kaneki Ken’s, no, _Mukade’s_  trust.

“We’re the same,” the ghoul said softly with a blush painting his cheeks. He didn’t mean just the scent or the fact that they had the same hair color. The ghoul could sense something else. Arima was like him in other ways; he just didn’t understand what they were yet.

Kishou realized he’d earned Mukade’s affection as well.

Good. The next phase would begin then. If everything worked, Kaneki Ken would live, and the CCG would have more than one new weapon at their disposal.

<><><><> 

It had been two months and Mukade hadn’t seen Arima. He was scared all of the time, and so, so  _lonely_. Scary things happened to him when he was asleep; he could tell, because he would wake up in pain. Sometimes, scary things happened when he was awake, too. The truth was, he was okay with the scent that made him dizzy and the lights and the cold table and chains and the knives and the blood the foreign tastes and odd sensations- even if he had nightmares. He was okay with all of  _those things_ , because they distracted him from what was truly scary. They distracted him from what he feared most.

He would sit in his room which he’d since found a better word for now-  _cage_. He’d not be spoken to, looked at, visited, nothing. He’d be left alone.

Alone.

 _Loneliness_  was the scariest thing. He tried to fight it off with his books, but he could recite all of them by heart. He’d tried to fight off his lethargy with exercise, but it all became too repetitive, and he’d just realize it again. He didn’t want to even realize that he was running at all, but with the nightmares rampant, there seemed to be no escape, even when asleep.

Alone.

He was so alone- always alone. He couldn’t even find others. He’d tried, and when they’d beat him and cut him and marked him and shot him with something that made him feel like his limbs were rocks, he’d realized he wasn’t supposed to be anything else. This was what he was supposed to be.

Alone.

He was supposed to be alone. He  _longed_ for Arima- the only kindness in his life. He longed for the one who smelled like him. He’d long since learned what smell they shared now was-  _blood_. Mukade didn’t know why, but the truth was that it didn’t matter, because no one else did. They were the same in other ways, too, but still, Mukade was trying to understand what those ways were.

He knew, however, that, like in the book, Arima was the only other one like him, and Arima had left him alone. Disinterested? Forgotten? There had been a book about a child that had gotten lost and when he’d found his mother, she’d forgotten him. If Mukade escaped to look for Arima, would the same thing happen? He didn’t want to be forgotten, at least, not by Arima.

Or, Arima could be dead.

Alone.

By the second month, he’d taken to scratching at his eyes when they hurt as they did every now and again when he was  _remembering_  pain. The blank space before his time in the hospital was unchanging except, at times, his body seemed to remember- that hurt. His stomach. His toes. His fingers. Always his eyes.

He’d also taken to digging. It was difficult to understand in what way or why or how, but he knew he was different. He was different from the people in Cochlea. He wasn’t like the children in the books. Sometimes, his eye would go black. He rarely ever felt hungry. And when he’d dig, tearing himself open with the fingernail of his index finger, he’d heal quickly thereafter.

When he felt alone, or different, or like the blank space was only pain, he’d dig.

He’d find his way beneath his own skin and search. What was inside him? What was he made of? Why was he left alone? Why was he different? Why was the blank space only pain?

Blood. Muscle. Veins. Bone. Dig. Dig. Dig.

Blood. Tissue. Organs. Warmth. Dig. Dig. Dig.

Blood. Muscle. Comfort. Humility. Dig. Dig. Dig.

Blood. Life. Kindness. Him. Dig. Dig. Dig.

Life. Life. Life. Life. Dig. Dig. Dig.

<><><><> 

“Mukade?” It had been nearly three months, and when he opened his eyes to see Arima kneeling beside his bed, he was sure he wasn’t real, so he just stared. When he felt a pain behind his eyes, his index finger reached up, and he sunk the nail inside, digging, digging, digging. Relief. Warmth. Life. C-

Arima grabbed at the ghoul’s hand and pulled it away from his now bleeding eye with a frown and a knit brow. He hadn’t expected this development at all. Had something else happened in his absence or had Ken Kaneki been equally self-depreciating- self-loathing?

When Mukade felt the familiar hand in his hair, he immediately started crying knowing now that Arima was real and he’d done something he normally only did alone in his presence, and, without thinking, he reached for him and hugged him close. He fell from the bed and was on his knees kneeling beside him, his arms wrapped tightly around him. The same smell. He had returned. He’d come back. It was kind; Mukade had since figured out that Arima was the only one like him, and, by extension, the only one who could bring him any kind of happiness.

Arima allowed the action, pleased, but also a little guilty. Kaneki Ken’s mind had been completely damaged. While he wasn’t exactly a child, there was certainly quite a few things he was innocent of. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and it was endearing, somehow, to the death god. It was alarming, however, that he’d begun this habit of self-harm. It hadn’t started until Arima had left him alone; it meant it was something he was responsible for. The death god looked down at the ghoul crying and bleeding into his chest in his desperate embrace.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Just what would Mukade do for him now?

As if to test him, Arima pulled his fingers from the other’s hair, put both his hands on his shoulders, and gently pushed him away to separate them, “Stop crying.” He narrowed his eyes to show that it was a command.

Immediately, Mukade did just that, and he even went a step further and held his breath.

Arima’s eyes softened like melting snow and he gently reached to cup the ghoul’s face, his thumb wiping at the blood that spilled like tears from his left eye, “Never do this again, Mukade.” The ghoul didn’t move. “I’ve missed you,” and, after a beat, he added, “Have you missed me?”

The ghoul nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the investigator’s. Even their eyes were similar save for the fact that he’d never seen Arima’s go black; he wondered if Arima felt that pain- that  _sting_ \- behind his eyes every so often as well. Mukade wished he could go back to wearing the blindfold; sometimes the light hurt his eyes.

“What if I told you there was a way you and I could always be together? Would you like that?” Arima knew what must be done. It was a risk, of course, but it was part of the plan, and there was no deviating from it now, especially since it had so far been mostly successful. He hadn’t accounted for Kaneki Ken’s mental state, but it could be worked with at least.

The ghoul finally released his breath only to inhale again quickly, barely squeaking out, “Yes, Arima.”

Arima’s expression faltered, and he took on a neutral tone. It was true that absence made the heart grow fonder. Somehow, this reunion was more difficult than he’d expected it to be. The investigator brought the other close to him once more and placed a meaningful kiss on the ghoul’s forehead as his eye slowly began to heal.

Mukade had read about  _love_  from one of the children’s books. Arima was the only person who  _loved_  him; of course he’d want to be with him  _always_.

<><><><> 

After the operation, Arima visited nearly every evening. There were a few days he couldn’t make it, but Mukade was always met with an apology afterwards and it assured him that even if Arima wasn’t with him in those moments, he would be coming soon; he’d never be left alone again. Even if it was brief, Arima would always take time to pet his hair, to read to him, and to listen to him.

Mukade had since put together that he didn’t deserve anything. He was something bad. That’s why he lived in a cage. That’s why no one smiled at him or spoke to him or even met his eyes except Arima. Only Arima. He was sure that Arima was everything  _good_  in the world.

“I want to show you something,” Arima came into his cage that evening with a black and red bag- no,  _briefcase_. Mukade learned very quickly through exposure and reading, but he was never exposed to much in the confines of his cage, and when he’d asked for more difficult books, Arima had told him  _no_.

Mukade was lying in bed, because, since the operation, he felt tired very often, and his back was always in pain- like it was nothing but bruises that would never heal. When Arima got closer, Mukade blushed suddenly. The briefcase smelled so familiar. It smelled like him. Like  _them_.

Arima had long since learned the ghoul’s body language. “You know what this is?”

Mukade shook his head in response. It smelled like him; that’s all he knew.

The investigator set the briefcase on the floor and opened it and pulled out the quinque- red, malleable, so unlike an actual weapon and more-so like a parasitic animal. It was made of four red tentacles, but one wrapped immediately around the investigator’s arm as if it were attempting to adhere itself to the death god permanently.

Mukade could only stare. He didn’t understand, because he’d never seen anything like it before.

“This is a part of  _you_.” Mukade rubbed his eyes. They hurt. If this was him, then was this what made him different, too?

“You’re going to protect me, Mukade, from now on.”

Arima’s left hand, the one currently not holding the weapon, went to Mukade’s chin and lifted his head to look up into his eyes. He searched inside Kaneki Ken’s cloudy gray eyes for things like regret or remorse or pain or  _hatred_.

“Arima?”

All he saw there was complete  _trust_. The plan had worked  _too_  well. Kaneki Ken was gone, and in his place was Mukade- a ghoul that loved and lived for him alone.


	2. Grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos! Comments appreciated!  
> A bit ooc, but hey- it's au. :p  
> I totally didn't think this story would be this popular . . . It's not my best, but I'm glad you guys are liking it~!

“May I protect you, Arima? One day? Like my kagune does?” Arima had taught him that word and had even gone so far as to teach him about ghouls and humans. He’d said that he’d once been human, but then he’d become a ghoul; Arima left out how that was possible. When Mukade asked if Arima was a ghoul, too, he was granted something of a smile. Arima wasn’t a ghoul, but he never fit in well with humans, either. He’d never given it much thought, but the distinction had somehow been important to Mukade.

“What are you asking?” Arima had an idea, but he wanted Mukade to be more forward. Over time, he’d developed more of a personality, and part of that was speaking around an issue like he always held some degree of uncertainty.

“May I leave here . . . and protect you . . . out there?” Mukade had been in his cage and had behaved very well for seven straight months. Of course it would make sense that he would finally ask to leave. He never questioned why he was locked up; he seemed to have a fairly good grasp as to why, but he didn’t seem to understand why his kagune had more value than he did- especially if that was the distinguishing feature of a ghoul versus a human.

“The world is a very ugly place.”

“It can’t be,” the response was quick and the blush that had taken to appearing at least once every visit appeared on the ghoul’s cheeks and spread quickly. Arima never said anything about it, but he did find it a bit strange. He’d not expected Kaneki Ken to be so inherently . . . gentle? Innocent? Naïve?

They had been sitting together on his bed. Arima was finishing up some work on a tablet and Mukade was holding a book he wasn’t reading. Arima knew the ghoul was trying to read the files and cases he was panning through, but he didn’t bother correcting him. He was working quickly, so anything the ghoul would actually be able to read would be harmless due to the quite limited exposure.

When the investigator turned off the tablet, the ghoul looked up from the screen to see that Arima was looking down at him. With their faces only centimeters away, the ghoul said quietly, “ _You_ exist here.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

“I can’t leave.” It wasn’t a question. He knew better. He was a _bad thing_. He was a _ghoul_. He had probably done really terrible things before he’d ended up in his cage. A _very, very bad thing_. He stared down at his wrist. He could see the vein. It would be easy to dig inside his skin and pull it out. There wasn’t much color here, but when the blood spilled, there was red everywhere.

“You could.” Mukade looked up again, suddenly, his eyes wide and waiting for Arima to continue, “What would you do for me if I organized your release?”

The ghoul looked away, “I would, well, I mean that I’d-“

“Well?” It wasn’t impatient or encouraging; it was a tone that the ghoul didn’t recognize and hadn’t heard yet from the investigator.

“I would do anything for you _now_ ,” and he looked up again, set his book aside, and proceeded to move closer to his salvation- the only kindness, the only beauty, the only truth that he knew- and he placed his smaller hand in Arima’s own. Arima’s wasn’t much bigger than his, but it was enough for him to feel safer than he did alone.

Alone.

That’s what he could promise. There was nothing better. There was nothing better at all than not being-

“I’ll never leave you, Arima.”

The man’s expression was blank.

“No matter what happens, I’ll always remain at your side.”

“And why is that, Mukade?”

“I’m nothing without you, and I- well, I’m sure . . . you saved my life.”

Arima pulled his eyes away and looked straight ahead. Saved his life? Is that what he’d done? _Saved_ it? Would he feel that way if he had his memories back? Arima didn’t _save_ lives; he _took_ them.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

<><><><> 

“Sasaki Haise?” the ghoul turned the card over in his hand after his eyes finally adjusted to the sunlight. The world _smelled_ different than he’d imagined, and it was much louder than he’d expected, but it looked the same as what he’d seen in a few books and on Arima’s tablet on the few occasions he’d let him play with it.

“That’s your new name.” There was a hand on his lower back, and he felt Arima push him forward down the steps of the building he’d called his cage for longer than he knew. Arima opened the car door to let the ghoul in on the passenger side. When the investigator got in himself, he put on his seatbelt and watched Mukade do the same, “Life will be very different now. Remember what you said.”

“Yes, Arima,” and when the ghoul buckled his seatbelt, he smiled. He felt like he’d done it a thousand times. It was familiar even if it was the first time his mind could recall it. He hoped the world would force many such experiences upon him- ones that his body remembered but his mind had forgotten.

“You will live together with me,” and he started the car and put it into drive.

“Yes, Arima,” and Mukade studied everything. He saw with his eyes the buildings and streets and trains and stores and trees and people and-

“You will be at my side at all times aside from when I work. You will not be permitted to leave while I am away,” Arima’s eyes never left the road.

“Yes, Arima,” the ghoul watched everything as it passed by. The news he received from Arima pleased him, but the sights around him moreso. He recognized _everything_. He actually _recognized_ it.

“You’re very happy.” The investigator was smiling, too.

Mukade looked back to his savior, smiling wide when he noticed the small smile that graced his lips, “ _Yes, Arima._ ”

* * *

 

Hide wakes up a month later in February. It’s cold, still, but the snow has long since passed. 

He asks questions that no one answers. 

He recovers. He doesn’t quit the CCG. In fact, he keeps looking. He knows Kaneki isn’t dead. He’s still alive. His own life is proof of Kaneki’s as well. He is no longer playing a part; he is the embodiment of the role itself.

Loyal best friend.

Time passes. Several more months. It’s during the Wack-a-Mole operation in the 24th Ward that he sees it. Four squads were assigned to the operation that was to take place over several days. He was with a group that was undergoing field training with a few of the Special Class and Associate Special Class squads. 

He’d never met Arima Kishou, but he’d seen pictures. He’d heard rumors. He’d never paid him much mind- not until then.

The death god produced an attaché case of black and red. When he snapped it open, a blood red quinque consisting of four long appendages, one of which snaked around the investigator’s arm, sprang out with what seemed like a life and will of its own. Hide could only stare. 

The living weapon, like something between an auto equipping quinque in the same class as the Arata and a malleable rinkaku type, looked somehow so familiar to him. _How?_

And that’s when it happened. 

The three appendages that remained stretched taut, reached suddenly for  _him_. Arima’s expression was unreadable as the appendages just barely grasped for the blonde Rank 1 investigator. Eyes wide, Hide didn’t dare move.

“Mukade,” Kishou chided softly before the three red tentacles receded and snaked around him protectively.

“Mukade?” Hide stared, eyes wide. Why was he only hearing of this weapon now, and why, why did he feel so connected to it?

“Nagachika?” Kuramoto elbowed his junior softly in the side, “You okay? That was pretty weird. I’ve never seen Mukade react like that.” Hide realized there were tears in his eyes and wiped away at them quickly as he stretched his arms upward, pretending to be unaffected.

“Never seen  _that_ before,” and like magic, he was smiling again.

Take nodded in agreement with Kuramoto before looking at Kishou. Was it really possible for a quinque to carry the will of its donor? While Arata had given rise to speculation, Mukade had proven it, right?

Kishou turned his back on all of them and led the squads further into the sewers. Did this mean that his Mukade would recognize Nagachika? If he did, would he leave? Would he break his promise?

Hide watched the death god go, and for the first time since the Anteiku Raid, he felt something like  _hope_ , but he couldn’t place _why_.

* * *

 

After two months of living in Arima’s apartment and never breaking a single rule that had been put in place by the death god, Mukade committed his first sin.

It was to be expected. Arima had mentioned he’d be gone, possibly for days, on a mission. In his absence, the ghoul had first broken Arima’s trust when he’d logged in to his computer. He’d then stolen from the investigator by making many purchases through the internet. Finally, he acquired many, many things in the mail which he devoured quickly and with little difficulty, tearing through each one with fierce determination and equal amounts of passion.

Books.

He’d used the internet to learn some things, but what he really liked were books. He’d purchased many- more than he should have- and he hid half of them beneath his bed while the others, he simply fell into, turning each crisp page with every minute that went by. Some of the books felt familiar- especially the Japanese literature, but whether he recognized the story as an old friend or not, there were plenty of pleasures to be found simply in the words he came across.

Arima had come home to a ghoul with an insatiable hunger for _knowledge_. When he walked in, he saw Mukade sitting on the floor of the living room with piles of books around him. There had to be nearly a hundred just sitting around the younger male in little stacks.

“You left?” Arima was more concerned about that than anything else.

“I didn’t.” Mukade sat up on his knees and set the book he’d been reading aside, “I never left.”

Right away, Arima noticed a change in the ghoul’s countenance, like he’d _matured_ in the span of a few says.

“Explain yourself,” and the investigator yawned. Mukade instantly became worried, because he’d never seen Arima yawn before.

“Those are the books I’ve read in your absence.”

“And these?” He sat down on the floor with a pile of books separating them.

“Those are the ones I’ve yet to read.”

Arima was not happy, but he could see it in Mukade’s eyes. The damage had been done, so there was no sense getting upset over it.

The ghoul moved the books aside, “But enough of this. Tell me about your mission,” and he crawled closer to the investigator who smelled so much like blood and reached a hand to his face.

Arima’s eyes were closed. He hesitated briefly, before meeting Arima’s cheek with his fingertips, gracing his touch across the soft skin of the dove.

Arima had fallen asleep.

Mukade had remembered a great many things in the last few days- nothing of the details of his personal life, of course, but he remembered other things, namely that . . . _love_ could take many forms. He trusted that Arima would return to him, and he had. Arima had trusted him to stay, and he had.

The ghoul, feeling a boost of confidence as his heart leapt at the fact that Arima had returned unharmed, moved to place his lips against the other’s right cheek. It was a small affection, but nevertheless satisfying.

<><><><> 

“Welcome home.” Mukade was wearing an apron and had just pulled something from the oven.

“I’m home,” Arima replied out of what had since become habit over the last three months since they had begun living together with Arima’s apartment as Mukade’s new cage. Arima noticed that the younger male had cooked for him and he spoke with just a tinge of concern, “Sorry, I ate, Sasaki.”

“It’s okay. I will put it away.” The ghoul smiled reassuringly and began to clean up the kitchen. He’d taken to habits such as these as though he were playing house. “And you’re at home, so please call me ‘Mukade’.” The ghoul would wait for Arima to come home each day mainly busing himself with cooking and cleaning and-

Books.

He’d read everything Arima allowed him to, and he’d finally decided that he understood.

“What did you do today?” Arima asked out of politeness when he sat down on the couch in the lving room.

Mukade found his way to the living room himself, apron now discarded, and stood in front of Arima, “I thought about _you_ , Kishou.”

“Oh?”

And though the investigator’s brow furrowed in confusion as the smaller male closed the distance between them, Arima wasn’t surprised in the slightest when the ghoul reached to press a kiss to his lips- once, twice. He didn’t protest when the ghoul’s tongue slid inside his mouth, nervous, then bold, and finally- _hungry_ for contact, affection, _affirmation_.

Arima closed his eyes and felt Mukade’s weight in his lap, knees bent and falling on either side of him. This was what the ghoul wanted between them? He felt the other’s hands on his shoulders, pressing and gripping desperately. When Mukade broke the kiss, his lips never left Arima for longer than a second, licking and nipping at his ear, biting at the skin of his neck, and finding his mouth back to his, breathing hot and hard into Kishou’s mouth before closing the distance once more. After a full minute of this, Kishou responded in turn, and his hands fell to Mukade’s slender hips before groping needy and wanting at his rear.

Meanwhile, Mukade had taken to removing Arima’s tie, smaller fingers working magic with buttons as he pressed himself into Arima’s hands.

But then, the kiss broke, and Arima was staring the half ghoul in the face, taking in the sight of one normal, human gray sky versus a blood red and black as pitch kakugan.

 “What am I to you, Arima?”

The death god was burning for contact, skin on skin, warmth, heat, connectedness- Why had the moment been interrupted with such a difficult question?

“Your son? Your friend? Your lover? Your . . . pet? Your . . . slave?”

Arima wasn’t surprised in the slightest with the question, though. He knew Mukade would change once he was released from his cage and exposed to the world. So, he’d learned all of these things, too?

The investigator didn’t respond. It wasn’t because Arima didn’t want to say the answer for fear of hurting the younger male’s feelings; it was because Arima didn’t actually _know_ the answer.

Mukade understood his silence and kissed Kishou long and gentle before breaking the kiss, a trail of spit between them that fell quickly away, and saying breathily, “I want to tell you, Kishou, that I don’t mind what I am. As long as I get to go on living beside you- as long as you never leave me alone. I just . . . .”

“I won’t leave you.” He means it, and he doesn’t understand _why_.

“I want to be beside you forever,” the ghoul reiterates. He is certain he needs nothing else despite where his desires take him.

So, Arima finally asks, “Do you not want to learn about your past?”

“I’m a ghoul; I probably didn’t live a very good life. I know, for that, that I’m not deserving of love. Still, you lo-what I mean is, you-“

“ _Stay_ , Mukade.”

The ghoul’s eyes searched the dove’s own but he saw only _emptiness_.

Mukade vowed then and there to fill it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm half asleep. I thought I could finish this tonight, but I guess there will be a third chapter. It will be tragic and involve Hide, so if you don't like those two things in the same sentence, please don't read the third chapter.


	3. Devout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd and I'm half asleep. I hope the meaning of the title is clear. Tragedy ahead. Thanks.

When he asked to leave, it wasn’t a request born from some curiosity about the outside world. Nor was it a request for some additional freedom to the so very few he had. When he asked to leave the apartment after four months of living there patiently, he simply voiced quietly from the other side of the dining room table, “I want to come to work with you.”

Arima knew that Mukade could read his expressions, however subtle they were, quite well, so when he continued eating and merely blinked in response, his eyes widening ever so slightly thereafter, he knew that the ghoul would easily hear the question of ‘why’ that he never actually voiced.

“I want to protect you,” the ghoul replied honestly. It wasn’t that he was jealous of the weapon, the part of himself that traveled together with Arima every day to work, able to be at his side, and fight for him and shield him and- No, he was jealous. He was jealous of the piece of himself that could proceed past the front door of their apartment and serve Arima daily without disturbance or restraint.

“Don’t romanticize war,” the god of death voiced evenly. He rarely took this tone with Mukade, but sometimes it was necessary, especially since he had taken to reading so much.

“I’m sorry,” he barely whispered as if he’d been struck so hard by the force of the words that he could no longer speak.

“You would just be in the way,” the investigator added.

Mukade looked up suddenly, his chest even leaning forward as if to help his words and the intent they carried reach Arima from all the way across the dinner table, “I wouldn’t; I can _fight_.”

“Oh?”

The ghoul kept his eyes steady as he spoke, “My body . . . it remembers.”

A long silence followed that. The investigator remembered the first day of the Wack-a-Mole operation. What else did Mukade’s body, which once belonged to Kaneki Ken, remember? Nothing was said between them as Mukade drank his coffee and Arima finished his soup. It wasn’t until the ghoul was cleaning the dishes as Arima dried them that the investigator finally responded with a firm and purposeful, “ _Tomorrow._ ”

The ghoul was beaming with a smile too bright to belong to someone born from tragedy when he turned his head to face his savior, “ _Really_?”

Arima couldn't hold back, and his own smile broke through across his lips, “I’ll take you to the training facility first.”

“Yes, okay.” Mukade was sure to remember this blessing and add it to the list of all that the man beside him had so kindly bestowed upon him.

Later, the ghoul was tangled inside the investigator’s limbs as each of them read a different book together on the couch of the living room. After no more than ten minutes, the ghoul moved, carefully, gently, so that his head could rest in the crook of Arima’s neck. When Arima didn’t respond, the ghoul kissed his sensitive skin timidly. When there was still no response on the investigator’s part, Mukade found a spot to nibble at, and then suck, attempting to mark Arima’s skin with his affections.

Arima shifted, arms moving around the smaller male to pick him up and lay him across the couch. Despite the fact that Arima had been on the recievng end, it was Mukade who was now breathing heavy, eyes engrained with wont, hands reaching desperately to pull their bodies closer together.

Arima leaned down and kissed him once, mercifully, affectionately, heavenly- And when he broke it, he studied Mukade just as Mukade studied him.

In the death god’s eyes now? Well, Mukade was convinced that it was love.

It wasn’t, though. Not yet.

“I don’t want to lose you, either.”

Mukade had said nothing, but the investigator had read something there in his mismatched eyes- something helpless, needy, and desperate, and he’d responded to it.

The ghoul sat up so his eyes were as level as possible with the investigator, “I would never leave you.” And, Mukade blushed deeply, turned his head away, and then back again, meeting the other’s eyes, “ _I love you_ , Kishou, so much.”

The investigator, once again, leaned forward, pushed Mukade’s bangs aside with a gentle hand, and kissed the ghoul’s forehead tenderly.

He’d give one more test to Mukade- _one last test_.

<><><><> 

“Everyone is here?” Ui did a quick once over of those that had assembled for the mission; Hirako Take, Kuramoto Ito, Washuu Yoshitoki, Nagachika Hideyoshi, and three others.

Take looked over to Ui and shook his head, “Kishou.”

Ui didn’t hide his surprise, “He’s late?”

Yoshitoki frowned, “Late? How unlike him.” The Washuu would be commanding the operation, but he wouldn’t leave without the king.

A car pulled up then, and when Arima stepped out, every investigator had their eyes on the person who was waiting on the passenger side.

“Who is that?” Kuramoto simply voiced his curiosity.

“ _Sasaki Haise_ ,” and with his tone, Ui voiced his displeasure.

When the pair joined them, Arima simply motioned to the smaller male and addressed everyone at once, “This is Sasaki Haise. He’ll be joining us on today’s mission.”

Mukade blushed from all of the attention. It was a bit much to take in all at once. He’d been training with Arima for the past month, but in that time, he’d not encountered other humans- or ghouls. It had just been the two of them- always the two of them. He could remember brief experiences with the guards and doctors from the cage he’d lived in, but since he’d been living with Arima, he hadn’t made contact with others. He was sure this was how new students must feel standing in front of classrooms as they were introduced halfway through the school year, “N-Nice to meet all of you. Please take good care of me.”

“Kaneki.”

“Hide? Are you okay?” It was Yoshitoki; his fatherly concern was not exactly a secret.

“ _Kaneki._ ” The blonde investigator stared, eyes unmoving from the man before him, only a few steps away, had always been only a few steps away, just-a-few-

Hide watched as his best friend, the one who’d been missing nearly a year, turned to the death god and asked innocently, “Arima, he seems sad. Is he lonely?”

This was the test, so Arima said nothing, and Mukade couldn’t see his eyes from the glare the sun left on the lenses. He turned to look back at the blonde who had since stepped closer to him.

“Kaneki.” Hide couldn’t say anything else. Didn’t Kaneki understand? There was nothing else to say. His name. ‘Kaneki’ was his name. His. It belonged to him. Who was Sasaki Haise? Why was he being called that now? Why didn’t he recognize him- Hide- his best friend?!

His loyal best friend?!

Arima finally spoke, but it was more for Nagachika’s benefit than Mukade’s, “You remind him of someone he’s lost- something that he can never have again.”

Kuramoto gasped as he realized just who Kaneki was; it wasn’t a secret that Hide was _looking_ for someone. Yoshitoki didn’t move. Ui frowned, not happy with what was going on. Take wondered just what Arima’s intent was in all of this.

“Is that true?” Sasaki’s eyes were open to listening to the blonde in front of him. He was beginning to understand. This man was simply mistaking him for someone else.

Something about this was cruel.

And then, Hide found his words, “I-I mean that I-I-you-“ and, unable to speak properly to his life’s purpose, he turned to Arima suddenly, “ _What have you done?!_ ”

Mukade narrowed his eyes and moved in-between them. His tone was detached and unforgiving, “I’m sorry for your loss. But, if that person really meant so much to you, why are you still here?”

Hide’s eyes grew wide with shock. What was this? What kind of sick game was this?

Mukade went on, “If you really loved that person, then you would have died by now, right? In their absence?”

Death was much better than loneliness. He could remember the many days he’d wished for death; he could remember the seconds, even, that would tick by in which his only company had been himself.

Arima walked past them then towards Yoshitoki to prepare for the operation, “Sasaki, that’s enough.”

Mukade bowed his head and attempted to follow close behind, “I’m sorry, Arima.”

A firm grip on his arm stopped him.

“Kaneki, it’s me,” and brown eyes were pleading, desperate, frightening.

Sasaki jerked his arm away dismissively.

“Nagachika,” Arima corrected the lower-ranked investigator’s behavior.

But Hide couldn’t stop-, “Kaneki, it’s me,” not now, “He has brainwashed you-” not after all of this time.

Haise’s eyes were aflame, “How dare you say something like that!”

“Kaneki, I’ve known you for years! This isn’t you!” He didn’t feel himself shaking, “Before all of this! You-Your name is Kaneki Ken! I can’t believe he’s done this!” He didn’t notice the tears sliding quick and hot down his cheeks. “We went to grade school together. I was there at your mother’s funeral when you were ten! We went to junior high and high school together! We studied at Kamii! This isn’t you! It’s not!!” He didn’t notice that in that moment he’d laid bare his _heart_ , his _soul_ , his _everything_ in _his_ name.

And briefly, for only a moment, Mukade realized that this man knows him. But, no, no, he doesn’t. No, _that person is dead_.

When nothing else was working, Hide screamed, “He brainwashed you! He’s using you! He’s _weaponizing_ you! I can’t believe this! Kaneki, _please_ , you’ve got to believe me- you-” And he was silenced by a loud clap and a burning sting in his face.

How could this be happening?

Mukade had hit him, and nowhere on his face did he show any signs of regret, “Anyone who speaks ill of Arima deserves to _die_.”

Kaneki Ken was dead. Hide felt something dark and all-encompassing closing in.

As the horror makes a home and settles inside Hide’s psyche, Arima responds moments too late, “That’s _enough_ , Sasaki,” because the death god is happy he waited. The test is over. He won’t lose Mukade, not even to his past.

Mukade is blushing, looking down at the ground and ignoring the blonde, “I’m sorry; I just don’t like people like that.” The ghoul is convinced the blonde doesn’t understand what it means to love someone, and it’s frustrating to think that he was so damn upset and taking it out on Arima when he actually did _nothing_ for this Kaneki Ken at all.

“Sasaki . . . return home.”

“Yes, okay. I’ll take the JR home.” The ghoul doesn’t hide his remorse or guilt. Now he wouldn’t be able to protect and fight for Arima, but maybet ehre would be another chance. He felt annoyed with this Nagachika who had taken this chance from him.

When Sasaki left, the others moved to get ready for the mission with Yoshitoki, who was unable to really address the situation effectively, ordering the others around as Arima approached the young blonde investigator, “Nagachika?”

Hide held a hand up to keep Arima away from him, and, without ever lifting his head, he threatened, “ _Don’t._ Just, I can’t even _look_ at you right now.”

“He’s happy with me.”

“Tch.” Hide was wondering just how it was that he was still breathing.

“He _is_ ,” the death god affirmed.

“He’s your _slave,_ ” Nagachika still won’t look at him.

“I _saved_ him.” Arima loves him, too. He can now that he knows that Mukade is _permanent_.

And Hide just laughed. The others looked over. They’re sure that including Hide in the mission now would not be wise. They were all thinking it. They knew the person they had come to know as Nagachika Hideyoshi would likely never be the same after this moment.  

“And I love him,” Arima finally voiced what he was allowing himself to feel and accept.

And Hide couldn’t stop as the laughter spilled from his mouth like he was regurgitating the sick jokes his life had been plagued with. Instead of responding to Kishou, he simply walked away. Hide felt sick, anyway, so he just leaves the others to the mission. He is convinced. No one can tell him otherwise. Arima Kishou doesn’t know the meaning of the word _love_. He’s sure. Manipulating someone into loving you is not love. It’s so sick. He felt so sick. He couldn’t-

He thought he heard Yoshitoki call out to him about something having to do with the mission.

Hide doesn’t look back. Life is a cruel joke both for himself and Kaneki. He didn’t want to face it anymore.

<><><><> 

“Hey, Kaneki.”

Mukade didn’t slam the apartment door in the blonde’s face, but he wanted to, “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re not allowed here.”

Hide shoved a shoebox into the ghoul’s arms before the ghoul could refuse, “This is the truth.”

“It doesn’t concern me.” Mukade attempted to shove it back, but it was at the risk of the thing falling to the floor, because Hide refused to take it.

Instead, the blonde moved closer and used his hands to push the shoebox closer as if to seal the intimacy it held with Mukade permanently, “This is _you_. Your _life_. What you’re doing now- it isn’t-”

“I don’t like you.” Mukade said simply. He associated the man with every negative feeling he could name. It was _his_ fault he’d been unable to fight alongside Arima after all of his training. It was _his_ fault that he made him angry and snap. It was _his_ fault that he was punished by Arima the next day once he’d come home from the mission. And it was _his_ fault that he kept having nightmares since that day. _He_ only caused pain. Nagachika was a nuisance- no- a _curse_.

After those four words were spoken, Hide was silent a moment. He couldn’t exactly process them being said in that voice. Kaneki not like him? Not like him? Kaneki?

“Fine. Whatever, I just wanted-“

“ _Leave._ ”

Hide delivered the box. He’d done what he’d come there to do. He turned around to leave and began down the walkway to the stairs.

He heard the lock on the door behind him click.

Wait. No, you know what?

Fuck that.

Hide was back at the apartment door, knocking incessantly and continuously, being obnoxious and not caring for a second.

Mukade opened the door with a frown, “You need to go.”

Before the ghoul could react, Hide walked in suddenly, forcing the ghoul to walk backwards briefly to keep himself from falling and literally being walked on by the blonde.

“I _am_ dead! I’m _already dead_! Kaneki Ken was my life, my love, my every happiness, my whole reason for being. I lied for him. I risked my life for him. Since then-I-I’ve killed for him- in _his_ name. I’ve done things I never would have done if it didn’t mean somehow getting closer to him. I’ve committed sin after sin- beared every cross. For him. For _you_! For you, goddamnit! Don’t know what love is? I’ve loved Kaneki Ken since the day I met him thirteen years ago. I loved him when he cried over his math tests. I loved him when he lost the relay race for sports day. I loved him when I protected him from the bullies at school. I loved him when he had his first crush in middle school. I loved him when he stopped showing up to school. I loved him when he became a ghoul. I loved him when he was broken- from a distance, I loved him so much I felt like it was _me_ who had lost touch with the rest of the world; it was _me_ who had no one to turn to; it was _me_ who couldn’t move forward. I loved him even when he lost his mind in the sewers outside V14.  . . . I loved him when he sank his teeth into my flesh. I loved him when he disappeared. And I loved him . . . I loved him even when he took on a new name. _You! You are Kaneki Ken!_ ”

Mukade was shaking. He doesn’t know when it happened, but at some point, he’d fallen to the floor on his knees and had wrapped his arms around himself as if to literally hold himself _together_.

Hide knelt down and gently placed his own shaking hand to Mukade’s cheek, “So, I’m _not_ going to give up. I’m not going to walk away. I’m not going to leave,” and he cupped his other hand to the other side of Mukade’s face. His deep brown eyes had gone soft and gentle, and there was something about the way that he touched the ghoul that made Mukade want to _die_.

There was loneliness in his touch.

“You are Kaneki Ken, and I’m not going to leave until you recognize that.”

It hurt. So much. It really hurt. Nothing had hurt like this before- ever. Everything had been okay with Arima. Safe. Happy. But this person- he’d made him hurt so much. _Too much._

Mukade hated him. He hated feeling this kind of pain. He hated it.

He hated him.

He _hated_ him.

“I’m _not_ Kaneki Ken.”

And if he once was, so what? He wasn’t anymore.

“I’m Mukade. I’m loved by Arima Kishou. I’m _safe_ with him. If what you are saying is true, then _where have you been_?! Why didn’t _you_ protect me?! Why weren’t _you_ there for me?! Why didn’t _you_ save me?!”

Hide could only stare in shock as the tears unyieldingly flowed from his eyes.

Arima saved Mukade. Arima protected him. He _cared_ for him.

Mukade seethed, “ _I hate you._ ”

Mukade’s hands mimicked the actions of Hide’s hands, and they rested on the human’s cheeks gently, thumbs under his wide brown eyes wiping away at the tears that fell in a steady stream.

In response, Hide mouthed the words and closed his eyes.

And so, Mukade killed him.

With a deafening crack, he broke his neck. The blonde was a heap on the floor.

Mukade knew why he smelled like Arima. They were the same. The same. And he was happy. He was proud of the love he had from Arima Kishou. It made him beautiful and strong.

<><><><> 

When Arima opened the door of the apartment, he recognized the scent of blood immediately. The lights were on; there had been no attempt at hiding anything. When he walked further into the apartment into the living room, he saw him.

Mukade, mouth red with blood, was holding Nagachika Hideyoshi like one might cradle a life-size doll, his forehead resting gently on the doll’s as if attempting some quiet unspoken affection. Arima didn’t say anything. Instead, he crawled cautiously over to Mukade and gently took the bloodied body from him. Mukade said nothing and let it go with relative ease. There was even a smile on his face, but Kishou would never be able understand why it was present.

“He tried to make me someone I’m not. He tried to take me away from you,” and Mukade wrapped his arms around himself now that there was nothing left for him to embrace, “ _It hurt._ ”

“Mukade.” And that’s all that Arima could say in that moment. He was unable to voice anything else. With the body removed, however, he did move closer to the ghoul, and when they were facing each other, the ghoul’s smile took on an ethereal effect.  

“Nothing will ever come between us, Kishou. I promise. I’ll never leave you. We’ll always be together. Because, I love you.”

And Arima still couldn’t say it.

“ _I love you._ ” This time, it really mattered to Mukade that his savior heard it. He _needed_ to hear his savior’s response.

The death god looked over at the young blonde whose life had been snuffed out too soon. Now, he could say in complete trust, “Yes, _I love you, too._ ”

Mukade smiled.

He had filled the empty space.

_‘Thank you.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Thank you!


	4. The Color White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a little creepy fluffy drabble. Imagine it's about two months after what happens in the third chapter.

“What are you doing, Mukade?” The investigator looked down at the smaller male that had quite nearly buried himself so far into the man’s embrace that it was difficult to tell where one coat began and one ended as if he were wearing an extra one to shield him from the snow that fell silently around them despite the gazebo roof above.

“I’m cold,” the half ghoul didn’t move and only squinted his eyes briefly as his eyelashes dripped wet with snowflakes that had blown beneath the gazebo roof. His voice rang with a pout of annoyance, desperate to get closer to the one who protected and loved him most.

Instead of indulging the younger male, Arima scooted away from him down the park bench without warning which left the half ghoul to fall pathetically on his side, his cheek hitting the flat wooden bench below eliciting a whine at the loss of warmth, “K-Kishou!”

“I spoil you,” he said simply, the glare of the gray sky on his glasses as his eyes smiled beneath the lenses.

“You don’t. You-” Mukade sat up and tried to get closer, but the reaper put his hand up, palm flat, stopping his words from escaping any further from his mouth.

“I do, I’m afraid.”

“You aren’t afraid of anything.” Mukade turned his head to the side, one end of his long scarf dusting the ground below.

Arima smiled. The investigator put his hand down and picked up the end of the scarf and wrapped it around Mukade’s neck a second time with a quick toss. The long end of the scarf dusted the bench now, so Mukade wrapped it around his neck a third time, his neck now hiding behind the soft wool. His eyes were half-lidded and he repeated, “It’s cold.”

“You’re the one who wanted to come to the park on a day slated to snow in Tokyo.” It was a Tuesday, and so, on top of the poor weather and delayed trains, most people were working. They could be together in Shinjuku Gyoen without really running into people. It was amazing to be in a city of thirteen million and have an entire Chinese garden to yourself.

The half ghoul scooted closer to the investigator and pulled his knees onto the bench, sitting up on them and looking down at Kishou as he smiled,  “Winter is beautiful,” and he took the long ends of Arima’s own scarf and began to wrap them around his lover’s head, “Pure white. It’s like you- resplendent.”

Kishou didn’t object. There was no one around to see them anyway, “Mukade, resplendent means-”

Mukade wrinkled his nose, “I know what it means, Kishou.” The half-ghoul moved to straddle the investigator without warning, sitting casually on his legs so that he could face the other directly, “In you, I see everything-” Mukade’s hands played with the zippers and buttons on the front of the other’s coat as he spoke, that pink color in his face that Arima had learned so well beginning to spread as his eyes refused to look up and meet his for more than a second, “Passion- that’s red, tranquility-blue, sincerity-indigo, . . . loyalty-yellow, green for optimism-”

Kishou took the other’s hand in his as after he had rebuttoned the same button twice, “I’m not optimistic.”

Face now red, Mukade did his best to hold his lover’s gaze, “You’ve had faith in me since the beginning.”

 _What?_ The reaper’s eyes grew wide.

“I’m just a monster, but you loved me; you’ve made me something more.”

“Mukade . . . “ It wasn’t true.

They were both  _monsters_  in a world full of  _humans_  and  _ghouls_.

Mukade had already proved he loved him at any cost. What had Arima proved?

The investigator pulled the other closer until he could meet his lips in a kiss.

Humans and ghouls had limits.

Monsters had none.


	5. A Monster with Two Heads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Our love ain't nothing but a monster with two heads." - I always thought of hidekane for this lyric, but it fits here. I can apply it to many relationships in TG, I guess. :p  
> If this doesn't make you uncomfortable, I either did it wrong, or you were just expecting it with this AU by this point. :p

“Kishou?”

Arima had just turned out the light on a long day. They had been lying in bed in the darkness for all of five seconds when Mukade turned, rustling the covers with him, and spoke to the investigator’s back.

“Hm?” He turned around and lay on his side so he could face the other directly beside him. He was tired, yes, but Mukade had been especially sweet to him that evening and had taken care of chores around the house, cooked him dinner, and even given him a foot massage. The reaper hadn’t wanted to be suspicious of the actions, but clearly he should have been. The half-ghoul was up to something.  

The light pollution from outside fought through the thin curtains to illuminate the death god’s face while Mukade’s was draped in shadow, “Which do you like better- me or your quinque?”

“ . . . ?” Was this a serious question? Arima reached a hand to the other’s cheek. Judging from the heat emitting from the half-ghoul’s face, it must have been. “How can you ask something like that?”

Mukade closed his eyes and nudged the palm of his lover, turning his head up so he could kiss it,  “It’s been four months since . . . what happened with that human.” he began to move closer beneath the sheets and close the distance between them, “It’s still my wish . . . to protect you.”

“I know it is.” Yes, Arima knew. His quinque, made from Mukade’s own kagune, had acted on its own twice since then, the second time protecting Arima nearly at the cost of Special Class Ui’s life. And then he smiled, “I _do_ prefer the quinque.”

“I knew it,” and there was a tinge of disappointment, “Is it more powerful?”

“I can control it better,” Arima said simply, smile widening slightly.

“You can control me,” Mukade assured him, eagerly willing to prove his loyalty and dependability.

“Can I, Mukade?” Arima moved the hand that had rested on the other’s cheek to rest beneath his chin, lifting it slightly so their eyes were forced to meet.

“ _Please._ ” Mukade didn’t move, but he didn’t need to. His tone, the desperation in that one word alone, was enough to convey his desire to prove his willingness to please the reaper.

Arima pulled his hand away, and with a single pull, he tore back the sheets from Mukade’s side of the bed, leaving the half-ghoul’s silhouette to be illuminated by the light from the city outside. “Undress.”

Mukade moved to sit up on his knees. He’d been wearing a night shirt and boxers only.While Kishou watched, he pulled the long-sleeved loose-fitting gray night shirt above his head, tossing it off the side of the bed to the floor. He had his hands on the waistband of his boxers when he stopped, “So if I do everything you say now, I can come with you to work?”

Arima’s smile dissipated, and his tone was immediately dull, “Mukade.”

The half ghoul put his hands up immediately defensive, “I mean, I’ll do it anyway, but I want to prove to you, Kishou. I’m in control. I am. I promise that will never happen again. I won’t kill any humans.”

The reaper stared for a full minute and then turned back around dismissively, his back facing the half-ghoul. He would never admit that he rather enjoyed teasing him.

Mukade was on him in a second, pulling him back so that he lay on his back and would be forced to see him, “I won’t. That was a special case.” The discussion wasn’t over; he desperately wanted this.

“Oh?” Arima wouldn’t let on that he found the half-ghoul rather endearing at the moment.

Mukade had, by now, moved beneath the sheets to sit on Kishou’s chest. His hand went to his chin as he remembered what had happened, “He insulted you.” No, it wasn’t the whole truth. That man had, within only a few minutes, completely broken Mukade’s heart, and he _hated_ him for it. He left an impression of loneliness carved so deeply into his skin, that even after ending his life, he could still see the scars when he closed his eyes. But the half-ghoul wouldn’t say all of that, and he especially wouldn’t say it to Arima.

“There will be others that will insult me.” Kishou looked up at the bit of Mukade’s face he could make out from the light from the window. Half of the younger male’s face was in shadow while the other half was not.

“ _Ghouls_.” Mukade insisted, “I’m allowed to kill those.”

“Does it not bother you?”

“Why should it?” and Mukade smiled before he leaned down to place a chaste kiss on the other’s lips, “If it bothered me, how could I love you?”

Arima marveled at how often the half-ghoul could make him lose his words. What could he say to things like that? Regardless of Arima and Mukade’s own status as monsters, their love was certainly that- a monster with two heads.

“I’ve learned my lesson, Kishou,” Mukade pleaded with his palms flat against the other’s chest, as he rolled his hips to move them back further and rest with their hips together.

After the _incident with the human_ , Arima had placed him in solitary confinement for a month without any contact with anyone, including himself. He’d set the whole thing up as though he’d been kidnapped. Mukade had nearly lost his mind within that month, but when he’d been set free and realized he’d been in Cochlea the whole time, sent there by Arima, no less, he was _happy_. He had been endlessly happy that day he had been released.  
_“Oh, if it was Kishou, then of course it’s forgivable.”_

_“Anything he does is in my best interest.”_

_“Of course I forgive you!”_

_“I love you.”_

Arima had taught him a lesson. He was strongest at Arima’s side, but in order to stay there, he couldn’t kill humans, at least, not without permission, and he couldn’t choose his own meals.

Kishou would dictate his actions, and Mukade was fine with that so long as he was able to stay by his side. Mukade was allowed to _want_ more, but he wasn’t allowed to _take_ it.

The reaper reached up and placed his hand on the other’s cheek, a gesture that made the half-ghoul sigh contentedly as his eyelids drooped heavily, weighed down with love, “I would die for you, Kishou.”

The investigator’s other hand went to cup the other side of Mukade’s face gently, “That will never be necessary.”

“But I would. I-”

Kishou led his face down, pulling him forward so that their lips could meet in a gentle kiss, “You promised me you’d be with me always. I will not sleep with a ghost.” He kissed him again, his tongue breaking through his lips to taste the inside of the half-ghoul’s mouth. His hands traveled away from his face and down his back as Mukade pressed himself into him, always happy for the sensations brought on when they were brought together, skin on skin. A moment later, just as Mukade began to vocalize his pleasure with a moan, Arima broke the kiss to issue a warning, “Never let it come to that.”

“I would rather die than live without you,” the words were natural, however harrowing and somewhat cliche. They were Mukade’s own feelings, and again, Arima was left without knowing what to say a moment. His Mukade could be so earnestly twisted, and he recognized that, but it didn’t make him love him less.

“We’ll protect each other.”

“We’ll live forever.” Mukade smiled lazily and kissed the other’s lips once, settling on top of him like a cat stretched out to sleep.

Kishou smiled again, looking into the half-ghoul’s eyes and losing himself somewhere in a dream. No one had ever loved him as Mukade did, and no one ever would.


	6. Provoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive my poor writing. I haven't written in some time. OTL

And so, a month later and Mukade was a Rank 2 Investigator working as part of Arima’s squad- a known half ghoul working on the side of humans to destroy ghouls in the CCG’s name. Mukade paid little attention to the irony of it. His being an investigator just meant more time with Arima, and in the end, it was all that really mattered.

The rumors were quick and spread in the same way apathy does during the rainy season. It reached the point that Arima was finally forced to address them with Tsuneyoshi. He was given forms to fill out to file their relationship including how it needed to remain unseen and to define Mukade’s rights, how he’d be treated by others, and how he was to treat others. Mukade was to be treated human in most cases, but despite the titles and awards he acquired throughout his time serving as an investigator, his position in the eyes of actual humans never changed. He was beneath them, and he could only accept that as the half-ghoul he knew he was.

Mukade followed every command given to him by Arima, and if it was to _‘Do as Special Class Ui says.’_ or _‘Follow Associate Special Class Matsuri’s commands.’_ then Mukade would do so as well. He did not disobey humans. He did not become angry or discontent with them. He did not threaten or attack them. Even if it meant injury to himself, he never raised a finger against a human, knowing all too well what the result would be. Any time he was not in the presence of Arima, he was too often reminded that he was a ghoul among men and he didn’t belong there.

Still, the threat was always there.

In three more month’s time, _Sasaki Haise_ was a commonly known name amongst those employed within the CCG that was to be respected, feared, and _never_ mocked- at least not in the presence of CCG’s Reaper. Haise had quickly risen up to First Class after taking down Nutcracker, Owl, and Torso single-handedly. He would be working under Special Class Ui for the upcoming Tsukiyama Operation. For the first time, he’d be on a mission that Arima wasn’t in any way involved in.

The night before, he sat in bed beside Kishou and held his larger hands in his, “I’ve done well?” He lived on praise and Arima’s sweet words no matter how infrequent they were.

“Very well, Mukade. You don’t need to hear it from me.” Arima pulled him closer, because with the filtered city light from outside in his now two-toned hair, Arima felt weak to the idea that this had all been a mistake. Mukade was a person- not a _weapon_ like he was treated now- but that had already been determined, so he avoided meeting his eyes altogether.

“But I like hearing it from _you_.” Mukade pulled out of his grasp and sat up slightly. It was difficult for him to fall asleep the night before any large operation, so he was sure that Arima was expecting and prepared for him to be antsy this evening.

“Yes, even better that you somehow managed to capture Owl.” Arima’s praise was still dispassionate, but Mukade recognized it for what it was.

The half-ghoul remembered the words exchanged between him and the crazed One-Eyed Ghoul that had once been human. “He acted like he knew me.”

“Yes, well, he likely knew _of_ you.” Arima admitted; he saw no reason that they might have actually met previously however.

The half-ghoul adjusted his pillows and sat up completely, his arms wrapped around one pillow and his head lying on top of it as he looked out of the small crack in the curtains where the light filtered into the room, “I had a reputation in the past? I was feared?”

Arima emitted something short of a guffaw before answering, “To some, yes.”

That had nearly made Kishou laugh? Mukade rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes, I know. _You’re_ not afraid of anything.”

“That’s not true.” Arima reasoned as he sat up as well.

“Say it?” Mukade let the pillow he was hugging fall and put his hands on the reaper’s chest, “Tell me.”

“I’m afraid of losing you.”

Mukade moved on top of him to press their lips together in a kiss. He’d do anything to remain like this. He’d felt that way since he knew what love was. No, even before that, he’d wanted to remain at Kishou’s side for as long as he could remember. He’d destroy whatever got in the way of that- even his own self-doubt.

 

* * *

 

 

Ui had ordered him to trace the building. He’d ordered him to get to the top as soon as possible. He’d ordered him to locate and kill the Tsukiyama heir. Mukade was the CCG’s new perfect weapon; Ui felt relieved only in knowing that Sasaki Haise was his to command.

Mukade stared emotionlessly at the ghoul with the cerulean hair in the expensive looking suit a few meters from him on the helicopter pad. He looked like his thread had already been cut. The Fates had decided his end was now and he watched it encroach upon him now in the image of a ghost from his past. Betrayal. Hopelessness. Death. They drew out the lines of his pretty face and made him colorless.

Mukade wondered if this was what he’d look like if he lost Kishou.

The expression reminded him of the human he’d killed back then. He blinked the memory way.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Tsukiyama?” Mukade withdrew Yukimura, the quinque he’d been given by Arima. He didn’t like this image of one torn asunder, cast away into a deep seeded despair. He lived a happy life with Kishou and it would not be disturbed by the perils of others.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

The helicopter, likely the ghoul’s last escape route, fell out of the sky in a burst of flame behind him, but it was when his eyes had met Mukade’s that he’d spoken those foreign words.

Mukade was careful. No one was here, and no one would arrive for at least another ten minutes. The ghoul was unarmed and, from what could be told from his expression, was already as good as dead.

Mukade relaxed his stance and revealed his kakugan, “Tsukiyama . . . I’ve been ordered to kill you. I can convince them to accept your capture instead if you surrender yourself to me.”

The ghoul said nothing, his expression unchanging as his eyes never moved away from Mukade’s mismatched ones.

“Do you know me .  . . Tsukiyama-san?”

The sky opened up and a light rain began to fall, just enough to soak their clothes and the helicopter pad below them.

The ghoul hunched over and, like rising waters in a river, laughter began to slowly build until it rang in the air as the dam holding back the absurd range of conflicting emotions the ghoul’s heart was wrought with broke, and with it, his trance.

“Surrender? This body is no longer my own. And you- _I do not know you_.” The Tsukiyama heir revealed his own koukaku as both of his eyes went black.

Mukade’s face fell blank, stern slightly in the edges as his rinkaku flared from his back, “Then there is no problem in killing you.”

They clashed, and, within a few minutes, it was clear who would come out victorious.

Mukade enjoyed fighting. When he fought, nothing else mattered. He could calculate the vulnerabilities and the movements of his enemies. He could time his own to keep up his stamina and maintain his strength. He could determine easily what made him more valuable than the other. Everytime he fought, nothing would break his concentration, unless-

A splitting headache stopped his kagune from cutting through the ghoul’s throat.

_‘Would you please not go?’_

Pain cut through him again before his quique was able to sink deep into the ghoul’s heart.

_‘I’d like everyone to follow me.’_

Finally, he saw searing red from the pain in his head just before impaling the ghoul’s chest.

_‘I’ll be the dagger beneath your pillow.’_

Mukade straddled the ghoul now weakly tethered to life, his quinque poised and ready, sure to hit its mark this time when the ghoul beneath him whispered.

 

_“_ _I promised then that I would never leave you. I always regretted breaking that promise.”_

 

Mukade finished the mission he’d been given as those final words repeated endlessly in a loop inside his mind.

 

He went on that night to defeat another Aogiri ghoul somehow involved with Tsukiyama and he’d even matched the One-Eyed Owl in a fight that left him with a kakuja to feast upon and a somewhat annoyed Ui to clean up the mess.

On the roof, he watched the corpse of the dead Tsukiyama heir bow before him. He watched him smile, laugh, speak dramatics. He blinked and watched the bloodied body soak in the rain.

Mukade wondered if this was what it was like to feel human. He’d only felt it once before. Without thinking, he knelt beside the corpse, lifted the ghoul into a sitting position, and sunk his teeth into his soft flesh and stiffening muscles.

 

* * *

 

 

Mukade went straight home afterward; he did not stay for the debriefing or even wait to hear the many honors or titles he’d been awarded. All he could hear were those words. All he could see was that face- the face of a man who had already died. He’d seen it twice now- in Tsukiyama and in that human.

When he arrived home, his clothing somewhat shredded and his body bloody, he spoke in haggard breaths to the man sitting calmly on the couch with a book in his hand, “There are people from my past that I’ve killed.”

The reaper said nothing. He did not form bonds throughout his lifetime- not how humans did. He’d already gotten word from Ui that Sasaki was behaving strangely. He was seeing it now. Mukade was usually not one to ever bring up the past, but it was clear now that something had provoked his interest and there was now no going back from it.

Was it possible that he had regained some amount of his memories?

“Did you know?” Mukade took a step closer to him, allowing blood to drip onto the carpet below him.

Arima tried to understand Mukade’s point of view, but he could not. Humans made mistakes. They had desires that drove them to act without reason. Humans could not be trusted. If they needed to be killed, then-

“Did you know?!” Mukade’s kakugan was visible and a mixture of blood and tears fell from his eyes.

Arima looked away. It hurt. Something inside him physically hurt to see Mukade like this.

“Of one.”

Mukade took another step closer to him and then another. He stood over the reaper and fell suddenly to his knees, Kishou catching him in time to rest his head in his lap. Mukade continued to cry, gentle tears with soul-splitting sobs as Kishou pet softly at his bloodied hair.

Mukade thought of the ghoul he had just killed and the human who had died nearly a year ago. “I have to destroy my past completely in order to be happy here in the present.” It wasn’t a question. If he were to remain happy here with his love, his light, his life- then everything from the past must perish.

“Mukade, you really-” Arima cut his own words short; he didn’t know what the right words to say were. If he thought long on the subject, he knew he’d be happy if everything related to the half-ghoul before he’d become a part of his life was destroyed. The fact was that he knew little of Kaneki Ken, however, so he could not even attempt to preserve what they shared between them now in the present.

“But, it’s impossible.” Mukade spoke weakly as the tears all but stopped.

“Mukade . . .”

The half-ghoul did not look at him. “The past has already been written.”

Arima wasn’t sure to what places the half-ghoul’s mind was wandering or exactly what it was that he was seeing. He knew only that he could not follow after.

With hollowed eyes, Mukade looked up into the eyes of his creator and whispered, “What have you done to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments loved and appreciated! Thank you for reading!


	7. Doubt

Arima awoke a week later with Mukade staring straight at him, his eyes mismatched as he watched him sleep. It gave Kishou cause to wonder if this had become some kind of routine for him. How many times had he been watching him sleep like that with his kakugan out? Since he had regained some of his memories a week ago, Mukade had begun to behave a bit strangely. He was more withdrawn; he smiled less. He was more nervous around Arima and had, at one time, actually flinched when he’d touched him. Arima was watching the love of his life slip away and there was nothing he could do to stop it. At least, he hadn’t thought of anything as of yet.

“Are you having trouble sleeping, Mukade?” It was difficult to see in the dark though there was some light that filtered slightly through the thin part of the curtains covering the windowed door that led to the small balcony from their bedroom.

“Yes.” Mukade answered honestly. He was tired, but his heart was racing. Having woken from a nightmare nearly an hour ago, he was convinced he wouldn’t return to sleep once more for the rest of the night.

Blindness. Confusion. Pain. The dream had been too real to be labeled as anything other than a memory. In a field of flowers, he had died at Arima’s feet.

“Why?” Arima could easily conclude that the half-ghoul was nervous about something. Reaching for and holding his lover’s hands now, Arima could feel the other’s pulse was above average. His eyes flitted here and there- never able to stay on Arima’s for ten seconds or so.

“Nightmares,” Mukade responded after licking his lips. He looked at his smaller hands enveloped in his lover’s larger ones, “You hurt me once.”

“I did,” Arima tried to pull him closer, “Before I knew you.”

But, Mukade refused to move and shut his eyes tightly as he spoke, “I’m no longer the person I was before.”

“You’re not.” Mukade felt Arima’s lips on his eyelids, kissing them both- his left and then right. He didn’t expect the affection, and he felt his heart flutter in a different way- like when he’d first started sharing such intimacies with Kishou- his savior.

Such kindness was not unwelcomed, but Mukade couldn’t accept it so naively now, “Do you like me better this way?”

Arima rarely hesitated with his answers as though he had either already prepared for such questions or he was speaking directly from the heart, “I know you now, and you’re important to me. Had I known you then, I would have loved you just the same.”

Mukade _wanted_ to believe the words. He felt his kakugan recede as he tried to calm down, “How can you be sure?”

Kishou gave the smallest of smiles, “Do you remember when you lived on Cochlea and you had few memories? You couldn’t even recall language.”

“Yes.” He could also remember loneliness. Experiments. Pain.

“There, I met you in your purest form- gentle, kind, and eager for knowledge and love. . . . You are perhaps the only good thing in my life.”

“Kishou-” Mukade felt chills down his back. He wanted to speak the words again. He wanted to return to being naive and in love. He wanted to return to being ignorant of the past. He wanted to return to the days where Kishou was the only thing that mattered. Somehow, life was easier that way. He was happier not having anyone else or being connected to anyone else.

Ties to others- memories of others- the loss of others just forced him into inescapable misery. He recalled ties he had now but with the dead. He wished he could erase them and be tied only to Kishou- his deepest living connection.

“Deciding to let you live a new life may have been the one good decision I’ve ever made.” Arima hoped his candid words would win Mukade back. He wanted them to share a future, however numbered the days were, that was not weighed down with tragedies of the past.

“That’s too much,” protested Mukade, who finally smiled gently.

“It’s not.” Arima’s voice had remained the same monotone for the entirety of the conversation until now. It raised slightly as if pained, but he showed no evidence of such on his face, “You are everything to me now, Mukade.”

“Everything?” Mukade loved hearing these words. If he could, he’d trap them in a jar and open the lid only slightly so that he could hear them over and over again. He frowned, half mocking, “But you lie to me.”

Arima took all of it seriously, “I lied to keep you happy . . . and safe.”

“Stop,” Mukade said, no longer nervous and feeling like himself again. He turned to put his weight on his elbows and his head in his hands to watch Arima struggle with sleep.

“I’ll stop.”

“Promise me,” Mukade grinned.

“I won’t lie to you again, Mukade. Sleep now.” Arima yawned afterward, but it didn’t remove the gentle smile on Mukade’s lips as he watched his lover slip back into sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning was a Saturday, and Arima slept in a half hour. His body seemed to need more and more sleep as time went on. When he felt for Mukade but found nothing, he sat up in the bed, reached for his glasses on the side table, and put them on to search the room for him.

On the dresser were the pins and medals each of them had won in an open jewelry box- Arima’s far outnumbering Mukade’s. Near the closet were a pair of Mukade’s boxers and a handful of shirts- could be either of theirs.The curtains on the window had been pulled open, and the sun was up and shining through.

A smell. Pancakes?

Arima got out of bed, picked up one of the shirts from the floor by the closet and put it on, and walked out of the bedroom.

“Kishou! Good morning!” Mukade was in the kitchen, smiling as he flipped over a large, fluffy pancake.

“You’re making pancakes.” Kishou blinked and walked over to the half-ghoul to learn over and kiss him on the cheek.

Mukade smiled wider, “Mm-hmm, just the way you like them.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Do I have to have one?” Mukade simply wanted things to feel normal again. He wanted to love Arima without doubt. He wanted to be happy without worry.

“I suppose not.” Arima began to set the table. “Are you hungry?” He would prepare something for Mukade if he was.

“No, thank you,” Mukade responded quietly, but then suddenly brightened, “And let me make the coffee?”

“Sure.” Arima sat down at the small table that fit only two comfortably. A minute later, a stack of three, perfectly round, thick pancakes were set in front of him, decorated with raspberries. Mukade immediately went to work making coffee. He used a glass funnel and pot to make the drip coffee. He’d done it a few times for himself in the past without Arima there, but today, he thought he’d share with him his previously hidden talent.

“You’re not using the coffee maker?” Arima watched him carefully. He had guessed, from piecing together evidence, that Kaneki Ken had worked at the ghoul-occupied Anteiku.

“Don’t be nervous. I’ve practiced.” Mukade was slow and careful when pouring the water. He could hear whispers from the past instructing him on how to make the perfect cup of coffee.

Arima watched, attentive, and could see Mukade’s expression turn despondent. The half-ghoul’s gray eyes watched the drip of the coffee, studied the moistening of the grounds, observed the glass pot slowly filling. Mukade had become so lost in his concentration that he didn’t notice Arima stand up and move behind him until he felt his arms wrap around his waist.

Mukade blushed lightly as he continued to work on the coffee, “Kishou?”

“It’s been nine months since I asked you if you wanted to learn about your past. You told me no because it probably wasn’t a very good life. Do you still feel that way?”

Mukade tried to laugh lightly, “You remember that?”

“Do you still feel that way?” Arima didn’t think it was something to laugh about.

“No,” Mukade said softly.

Kishou moved the half-ghoul’s face by the chin so that their lips could meet and Mukade gently set down the water so that he could turn to face the one who loved him most. In their kiss, Arima asked of him the same he had asked back then- to stay. In their kiss, Mukade begged the same of him- to never leave his side. In seconds, tears were falling down Mukade’s face.

Kishou gently pulled away to wipe his cheeks, his large hands holding Mukade gently to look up at him.

“I’m-I’m angry with you,” Mukade admitted.

Arima nodded once, “I understand.”

“-But I love you so much.”

Arima’s eyes, half-lidded, studied his lover through the lenses of glass, “I understand.”

“There were people who loved me in the past. What if something happens, and I forget you, too?”

“I’m sure their answer would be the same as mine.”

“What?” The tears still fell from his eyes, but Arima was quick wipe them all away.

“No matter when or where, what matters is that you’re happy living the life you have decided to live.”

“I-I want to be happy with you.”

“I want to make you happy, Mukade.”

_But, it’s impossible._

Mukade shook Arima’s hands away and pulled him suddenly closer, hiding his face in his lover’s chest as he continued to cry.

He’d gone from thinking Kishou had saved his life to wondering if he had destroyed it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Do You Believe in Magic?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342417) by [Fenrisnin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenrisnin/pseuds/Fenrisnin)




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